


Harry's Intervention

by thelookyouredoingthelookagain



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alcoholism, Awkward Talk, Explicit Sexual Content, Honest Talk, Lives Interrupted, Love, M/M, Realisation, drunk, tentative
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-01
Updated: 2018-03-01
Packaged: 2019-03-29 16:28:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 18,804
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13930860
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thelookyouredoingthelookagain/pseuds/thelookyouredoingthelookagain
Summary: A surprise visit from John's sister turns the boys' lives upside down, making a discovery even Sherlock was missing.





	1. Harry Arrives

**Author's Note:**

> All works here were produced by two friends in the fandom. One writes as SH and one as John, and we edit together. Our characters are based on the BBC's _Sherlock_ , though we don't mind playing a little loosely with canon and the occasional AU. We have whims and like to follow them. While we like to torture our boys with constant misunderstandings, we know they belong together and we always see to that.
> 
> All posted works are complete, and we hope there will be something for everyone. We've got quite a few stories, and we invite you to get lost in them. **To keep up with our new stories, please subscribe.**
> 
> We also really appreciate the kudos and comments. They mean a lot -- sometimes they inspire new ideas and works, sometimes they just make us feel all warm inside.

John stood at the doorway and, for the hundredth time, cursed the fact that he never got taller than Harry. "What are you doing here?"

She was grinning like she had just won a great prize. "I'm in the area for a little while and thought I'd stay with my brother in his fancy flat," she said.

"You can't stay here, we don't even have a room." John didn't smile back. This was the last thing he needed right now. 

"Are you really in separate rooms? You can tell me, you know." She grinned stupidly again, and John wanted to shut the door in her face. 

"There is no room here. And we're busy and I can't have you . . ." He stopped and watched her smile falter a bit. "I can't deal with it right now. Things are still new here."

"I've quit. That's why I'm here -- making amends or whatever that step is. Come on, John. I don't mind the sofa. Please? It's just for a few days."

John glanced up at the flat and sighed. "You can use my room but at the first sign of drinking --"

"Ugh, yes John, I know," she said, barreling her way passed him. John followed her upstairs and sent a text to Sherlock. 

_I need to talk to you before you come home. -JW_

"So this is where the magic happens?" she asked, immediately wandering over to Sherlock's desk.

John just stopped her from touching a beaker. "Don't touch anything. It could be poisoned, and that's not an empty threat around here. My room is upstairs."

Harry patted his shoulder and gave him a small, genuine smile before heading up to the bedroom. John paced back and forth as his mind raced with what he was going to do about this and how exactly he was going to keep it all a secret from Sherlock. 

Sherlock stared at the text. This did not bode well. He tried to think of everything he'd done in the last 24 hours that would have upset John, but nothing came to mind. Recently, he'd actually been trying to be extra good -- John had really helped on their first case, everyone knew it, but only Sherlock knew John had saved his life. So he'd been trying. But now John was cross at him, and he had no idea why.

_I'm sorry. SH_

_For what? Why are you apologising? -JW_

_For whatever has upset you. Can I come home now? SH_

_You can come home whenever you want. I just want to talk to you before you come up. -JW_

Sherlock stared at the message. What did that mean? He glanced out the taxi's window.

_I'll be back in five minutes. SH_

John listened to Harry moving around in his room. "Don't snoop through anything!" he shouted. The movement stopped. He wanted to be positive about her news, he truly did. But he had heard the same words out of her mouth many times before.

A hundred things went through Sherlock's mind as the taxi made its way to Baker Street. So far he thought he'd done well, adjusting to living with someone else, but this felt different somehow, bigger and thus more worrying. He saw John standing at the door as the car pulled up. He paid the driver and walked over. "What's going on?" he asked.

"Okay so . . . right." John said. "My sister is here . . . she wants to stay for a couple days."

Sherlock's initial thought was relief that John's issue had nothing to do with him before realising it had everything to do with him. "I don't think that's a good idea, John," he said, glancing up at the window. He was a bit curious but not enough to open the flat to someone else.

"I know," John said. He followed Sherlock's gaze and hoped he wouldn't see Harry staring down at them. "I know, but she's already up there in my room and she just . . . it's just a couple days."

"I thought you said she was a drunk?" Sherlock asked. "I don't want to be around that."

"She's on a programme, this is one of the steps. That's what she said."

"That's what they all say," Sherlock said. He wanted a cigarette. "Why here? Why not somewhere else?"

"She said it's a step, making amends," he said. He glanced up again. "I know this isn't ideal, I tried to stop her, but if I just let her do her thing, it'll be over faster."

Sherlock scowled. "Fine," he said, moving past John, thinking about what a sacrifice he was making and how he could use that against John in the future. He went upstairs and went straight to his room. He dropped his things off and flopped onto his bed, before realising he wanted a cup of tea. Obviously, it wasn't going to work, hiding in his room until she left. So he got up and moved to the kitchen to put on the kettle.

John stood in the sitting room, looking over at Sherlock and looking up the stairs to his room. Just then, Harry started coming down, grinning when she saw Sherlock. "Finally, the famous detective!"

Sherlock looked up at Harry and then over at John. "Yes," he mumbled and turned back to the kettle, pouring two cups. He handed one to John. "Am I supposed to make one for her?" he asked him.

"I would like a cup, yes," Harry said before John could answer. 

John sighed. This was going to be a disaster.

Sherlock got another mug. "Sugar or milk?" he asked.

"Both," she said.

"We don't have any sugar," he said, dribbling in some milk and handing it to her. "There you go."

Harry took a sip and wrinkled her nose. She put the mug down and started looking around at things. John watched her nervously.

Sherlock moved over to John. "What am I supposed to do while she's here?" he asked quietly. "How am I supposed to be?"

"Just be yourself . . . pretend she's not here," he said.

"Who's this?" Harry asked, tossing the skull from hand to hand.

"Stop that!" John said sharply.

She stopped juggling him but waited for an answer.

Sherlock stepped over and took the skull from her hands. "I understand John has given you permission to stay here, but you gained his approval, not mine," he said. "This is mine. You don't need to touch anything that is mine. If you're not sure if it's mine, you should ask John. The sofa is John's. Perhaps you're better off moving over there." He put the skull back on the mantel and picked up his tea. He moved to his desk, opened his laptop and tried to pretend she wasn't here even though he knew that was literally impossible to do.

She raised her brows and looked at John. "This is what you're talking about in the stories," she said.

John shook his head, willing her not to keep bothering Sherlock. "Just . . . sit down and tell me how you got here. I mean, in the programme you're doing," he said.

"Don't be coy, John. It's AA, just like everyone does. I'm not going into details about what happened. Just . . . this is what's happening now."

The way she said it made John wonder if this was court-ordered but he didn't press her--not in front of Sherlock. He knew how bad it could have been; Sherlock did not need to know that. "Well, it's good that you're doing this and getting better."

"Hmm. What's for dinner?" she asked. "I'm hungry."

"Oh. We have some leftovers, but we can go out if you want."

"Sherlock, too?"

John glanced over at him. "If he wants to, of course."

Sherlock had been listening, of course, but he'd kept his eyes focused on his computer. "Yes, I will go," he said without turning his head.

"Great, we can go to Angelo's," John said.

Sherlock closed his laptop and got up, going into the bathroom first. He splashed some water on his face and tried to relax a little -- it was hard to do so with a stranger in the flat, but she was going to be here a couple days and it'd do him no good to stay wound up like this. He came out and for some reason washed up the mugs and then looked over at John to let him know he was ready.

Harry had gone upstairs to get her coat. "Can you tell Angelo ahead of time not to bring wine to the table?" John asked Sherlock quietly. "Since you two talk."

"I will," Sherlock said. "And will you make it so I don't have to talk much to her?"

"I'll try to make all of the conversation," John nodded.

"Thank you," Sherlock said. When Harry emerged, he led the way downstairs and lifted his hand. When a cab pulled up, he opened the door to allow Harry and John to get in. He gave the driver the address and stared out the window. They rode along quietly, with Harry muttering a few things to John, but Sherlock didn't hear. When they arrived, he paid the driver and headed in. Sherlock mumbled the message to Angelo as he sat them down at their usual table.

John sat with Harry and passed her a menu. "There's a lot that's good here, we come here often."

"I know, I've read the stories," she smiled.

"They're cases, not stories," Sherlock said, looking at the menu for no reason. "Stories are fiction. The cases are all true."

"I know that. But John writes stories," she said.

Sherlock set his menu down. "What do you mean?" he asked, glancing over at John and then at Harry.

"Have you seen the blog? What John writes?" she asked. 

"Yes," Sherlock said. He looked straight at John. "What does she mean? I don't understand."

"It's just the embellishments - that's what you called them. It's not straight facts, like you'd write," John explained.

Sherlock didn't respond. Angelo came over to take their orders, and Sherlock got his usual. "Harry, what would you like? Everything here is good," he said flatly.

"I'll just have the lasagna," Harry said. John ordered his own meal and handed the menus to Angelo. There was a moment of awkward silence before Harry started talking again. "Okay, so the making amends part isn't just crashing at your place. I have to actually say some things so just . . . shut up and listen."

"Perhaps I shouldn't be here . . ." Sherlock said awkwardly, though he wasn't really sure where he was supposed to go if she agreed.

"I don't care either way," Harry said. "It needs to be said to John and you're his . . . whatever you two are together."

"Flatmates," Sherlock said.

"We're friends, Harry," John corrected.

"Well, yeah, but it's . . ." she said. "Whatever. Just let me say my piece."

John fought rolling his eyes and waited for her to go on.

Sherlock was confused by the interaction, but maybe being here was useful -- perhaps his knowing what she was doing would help ensure she treated John well and, more importantly, ensure she'd leave sooner.

"I just want to start by apologising for the things I've said and done to you while I was drinking. I'm sorry I dragged you into my divorce and I'm sorry about the things I called you and I just want you to know that I'm really trying to change and not be that person anymore."

The words rambled out of her quickly. John could see this was hard for her and his attitude softened a bit, though he was still grateful she didn't go into too many details in front for Sherlock. "I appreciate that, Harry, and I support this and want to help you get better," he said. 

Sherlock watched the interaction between the two siblings. It felt like he should say something and, while normally that feeling was irrelevant to him, John's serious tone made a difference. "I agree with John," he said. He quickly met John's eyes and then took a drink of water.

"I've already seen Mum and I'm here now," Harry told John. "There aren't many people I care about but you know, I'm trying."

Sherlock thought for a moment -- in a way that described him exactly: there were very few people he cared about but John was one, and for John, he too was trying. 

"Who else are you going to see?" John asked.

"Clara. She's in London for work for a few weeks, so I'm going to see her. We have a lot to talk about."

"Are you sure that's a good idea?" Sherlock asked, immediately regretting opening his mouth.

She looked over at him. "It's part of the path to getting better. I have to do it."

"Perhaps John should go with you," Sherlock suggested. He wasn't sure he should be getting involved at all, but, unfortunately, he did know a little about addiction.

"No. I've dragged John into enough. This is my recovery and I'm going alone."

Sherlock looked down at the table.

"If you need anything --" John started.

"I won't. I just . . . look, if you're happy with my apology, can we change the subject and talk about something else?"

John nodded. "Yeah, of course."

"Do you have a job?" Sherlock asked. He glanced at John. "She said she wanted to talk about something else," he said as an explanation.

"Yeah, just something small at a cafe. Little commitment involved, just for a while," she said. 

"And you're going to stay living in the same town or are you moving to London?" Sherlock asked.

"I'm not moving to London, it's too much noise for me. I never liked it."

Sherlock felt relieved by that answer, but he did his best to hide it.

When their meals arrived they got quiet again, except for Harry complimenting the food. When they were finished Harry leaned back. "Are we sharing the bed like when we were kids?" she asked.

"God no. I'm sleeping on the sofa until you leave," John said.

"Thank God," Harry grinned. "He moves around so much," she told Sherlock. John only rolled his eyes.

"I wouldn't know," Sherlock said, though he wasn't sure why. "Though I know he has nightmares sometimes."

"Do you?" Harry asked. "From the war still?"

John flushed lightly. "Yeah, sometimes," he said. He shrugged to make it seem nonchalant. "The sofa will be fine."

"I've slept on the sofa," Sherlock said. "If you'd rather sleep in my room, you can."

Harry grinned stupidly and looked between them. John shook his head. "No, she's my guest. I don't mind."

"All right," Sherlock said. He went back to eating his food, eventually giving up and setting his fork on the plate. 

"Do you want anything else? Dessert or anything?" John asked his sister.

Harry shook her head. "I'm full."

"We can go then," he said.

Sherlock stood up a bit too quickly, definitely ready to go. He gave Angelo a wave and they headed out.

Back at the flat Harry went up to get ready for bed while John moved around the flat to get sheets and pillows for the sofa.

"My offer was sincere," Sherlock said as he handed him a cup of tea. "I don't mind sleeping on the sofa since you have work tomorrow."

"I know, but I really don't mind. Your space is invaded enough," he said, glancing at the stairs.

"It has been," Sherlock said, sitting down on the sofa where John was lying on the blankets. "But I forgive you. I tried at dinner . . . did I do all right?"

"Yes, you were great," John said. "I don't think there's a right or wrong thing to say."

"I hope you don't mind me saying, but I'm not enjoying this," Sherlock said. "I like just being usual, and this is unusual."

"I know, I'm really sorry," John said.

Sherlock took a sip of tea. "Do you think it's a good idea for her to go talk to Clara?" he asked tentatively. "Maybe you could meet her at lunch?"

"I don't know," he said. "But she's determined and if it helps . . . I mean, dinner tonight went well so maybe it'll be okay."

Sherlock finished his tea. "I hope you're right," he said. "Are we going to do something now -- watch television or should I just go to my room?" he asked, changing the subject.

"We can watch TV for a bit," he said.

"Whatever you want to watch is fine," Sherlock said. "I'm sure I'll find something wrong with it."

"I'm just going to put the news on," John said. "Don't be dramatic."

"Don't be cruel," Sherlock said. "Pretty soon the two of you will be picking on me together."

John grinned. "Don't give me ideas."

Sherlock pushed a pillow toward John. "Don't, though," he added. He took a sip of tea and lifted his legs onto the table, sliding down a bit. "Do you like her?" he asked. "I mean, if she wasn't your sister, would you be friends with her?"

John leaned back and shrugged. "I think so. It's hard to imagine not knowing her," he said. He thought for a moment. "Yeah, I really think so."

Sherlock stared at the television for a few moments. "Well, that's good," he said eventually. "Obviously I don't know her at all, and besides my taste in friends is quite questionable -- I've only got the one and he's always pulling stunts like moving his sister into our flat." He glanced over at John and gave him a little smile.

John smiled. "This friend sounds fun and adventurous," he said.

"He's all right," Sherlock replied as he stretched a bit. "Look, I might actually go into my room -- there's a couple things I wanted to read before tomorrow anyway, so I can do that in there so you can get some sleep."

"Whatever you want," John said.

Sherlock grabbed his mug and carried it into the kitchen. "If I don't see you in the morning, let me know what time you'll be back, yeah?" he said.

John nodded. "I will. I'll text you at lunch."

"Night then," Sherlock said. "If anything goes wrong . . . let me know," he added even though he wasn't quite sure what he meant by that.

John nodded again, taking his shirt and trousers off. He lay under the blanket in his pants and undershirt, the TV playing softly until he fell asleep.

In his room, Sherlock read a few articles online, finding the information he needed to do the next step on an experiment he was working on. This should keep him busy until the next case. He hoped Harry would be gone by then. He wasn't sure how he felt about her being here. The strongest feeling was annoyance, just because it was different. He didn't like people. He only like John -- and even with John, it had taken a while to get used to him being around all the time.

But there was something else about her presence here -- it made him worry a bit. Maybe because it was a reminder . . . He turned off the lamp and rolled over, trying not to think so he could sleep.


	2. Harry and Sherlock

When John's alarm went off in the morning he groaned and shifted, almost forgetting where he was. He sat up and stretched with a groan, his back sore from sleeping on the sofa. He started the kettle and took a quick shower, then went up to his room to get dressed. 

"Working?"

John turned and saw Harry sprawled out looking at him. "Yes. You can call if you need anything. Just try to stay out of Sherlock's way, yeah?"

Harry only grinned and snuggled under the covers. 

"Harry, I mean it!"

"Go to work before you're late."

John rolled his eyes and went down to have a quick breakfast. He hoped they wouldn't kill each other while he was gone. 

Sherlock heard John moving in the other room, so he turned and stretched himself on the bed. Then he remembered they had a guest, so he decided not to get up just yet. Soon it went quiet, and he wondered if Harry had gone out along with John. This hope was dashed when he heard the shower running, so he took that opportunity to get up and dressed, rushing out to the kitchen to make some tea. Perhaps if she wasn't going to go out, she'd at least stay upstairs until John returned.

Harry got out of the shower and changed in John's room before heading down. "Perfect timing! I'll have a mug too," she told Sherlock 

Sherlock said nothing, but refilled the kettle and turned it on again. "Are you heading out soon?" he asked hopefully.

"Nope," she said, moving around the kitchen. She opened the fridge and looked through the drawers. "Where are the thumbs or the eyes?" 

Sherlock steeled himself -- he was going to have to have a conversation with her. "What do you mean? The milk's here," he said, holding up the bottle.

"That's what's in John's blog, I was hoping to see something gruesome," she smiled. She fixed up her cup of tea and leaned on the counter. "Do you have a case right now?"

"No," Sherlock said. "We've not got anything. Which is why John's gone to the surgery." He stood for a moment. "Nothing gruesome here," he added and then moved over to his desk.

"Check the blog, maybe I can be your Watson today," she grinned.

"I have checked the blog," Sherlock said. "I already have a Watson. One is enough." He opened his laptop and unlocked it. He didn't look over at Harry because he knew she was looking at him. He just wanted her to she'd busy herself so they could just stay silent until John got home. "You can turn on the television if you'd like," he said, eyes still down.

"No, I'm fine," she said. She moved around the room. "Why do you use the knife to hold your mail?" 

"Because I do," Sherlock said. "Why do you have brown hair? Because you do."

"Not the same," Harry said. "Who are these people tacked up here? Cold cases? Works in progress?" 

"My former flatmates," Sherlock said quietly. He leaned a little closer to his screen as if doing so would make the everything else in the room disappear.

"Hmm, I don't believe that," she said. She moved on to the bookshelf, then turned towards Sherlock. "Who put the headphones on that skull?"

"I did," Sherlock said. "I put everything on everything -- all the pictures, all the books, everything in this flat is mine and it's all there because I put it there on a whim. No rhyme or reason, just a whim. I have them all the time, and they are the explanation for anything further you might be considering asking me." He pulled out his phone and opened his messages.

_Help please. SH_

_What's happening? I'm sorry. -JW_

_She won't stop talking. SH_

"Did you shoot the wall, then?" Harry asked.

"Yes, I'm afraid I did," he said. "However, I won't be doing that again so you needn't worry."

"That's a shame. Can I shoot the wall?" She asked.

_She's just trying to learn more about you. I'll try to come home early. -JW_

_Please do. SH_

Sherlock set his phone on the desk. "Have you got a gun then?" he asked, looking over at Harry.

"I'll find John's," she said. "Are you saying I can, then? I'll make a little partner for your friend there."

"John doesn't have a gun," Sherlock said firmly. "The walls don't need any more holes."

"John definitely has a gun. He won't have it with him, maybe I'll snoop around his room in a bit." She kept moving around the room, sipping her tea. "What's in all of these beakers?"

"The gun's gone," Sherlock said. "Chemicals are in those beakers, but none of them is alcohol," he added. He stood up but wasn't sure why. He decided he needed more tea. "Maybe you should go up to John's room," he said as he moved to the kitchen.

"I don't want to go up to John's room. I'm getting to know his . . . friend."

"Well, there's nothing else to know about me, I'm afraid -- very boring," he said.

"I really doubt anything about you is boring," she said. 

Sherlock thought for a moment. Then he came up with a plan. "How about you then? You don't seem very boring," he said. "What do you want to tell me about yourself?" He brought his tea in and sat down in his chair.

Harry sat in John's chair. "You tell me. I want to see you in action. And anything John has told you doesn't count so it's like you say to your clients: don't be boring," she smiled. 

"Fine," Sherlock said begrudgingly. "Just like a client." He looked at her closely, up and down her body and then said, "Hold out your hand, flat in front of you, please."

Harry did as he asked, watching him closely.

"A week clean?" he asked.

Harry nodded, not saying anything yet.

Sherlock steepled his fingers. "You're doing the Twelve Steps but not attending meetings?" he asked.

"I've gone to a few," Harry said quietly, her eyes glancing down to the floor.

"But you don't have a sponsor," he stated. "You're doing this on your own."

"I don't need a sponsor," she said. "Not everyone gets one . . ." 

"How do you know?" he asked.

"Because I'm in the programme," she said.

"Are you?" he asked. "Or have you just read about it online?"

Harry stared at him for a long moment. "Don't tell John."

Sherlock got up from his chair. "I think that's enough getting to know each other for now," he said as he moved back to his desk.

"Sherlock, please. You can't tell him. I really am quitting -- that part isn't a lie."

"I believe you, but you told him a lie. I wonder, why aren't you in rehab or some kind of program - just out of curiosity?"

"I don't like it. It's . . . sappy. Annoying. You won't tell John?"

"No, I won't," he said. "But he'll know."

"No, he won't. He's not like you. Besides, he's always believed the best of people. He won't know if we don't tell him."

Sherlock swallowed a sip of tea. "You're wrong about him -- he'll know, you'll show him somehow, he'll see. But you're right -- he does always believe the best in people." He looked over. "Don't let him down."

"Don't pretend you know him better than I do," she said. "He won't know unless you tell him."

Sherlock felt an urge to shout something back, but he didn't. He knew addicts, and he knew their thinking. "All right," he said. "I need to work now." He turned his attention back to his laptop.

Harry wandered over and looked over his shoulder. "What are you working on?"

Sherlock did his best not to sigh. "I am testing some chemicals," he said flatly. "I'm not particularly interested in explaining it to you, and I doubt you'd find that explanation interesting anyway. You are in London, the least boring city in the world. Don't you have something else you could be doing?"

"Nope. I've wanted to meet you since John's first blog post. I'm not going anywhere. He'll be home soon anyway because he's probably worried about what I'm saying to you."

That piqued Sherlock's interest. "What things do you have to say to me?" he asked.

"I don't have anything specific. But I have stories about John from when we were little he probably doesn't want you to know. I know his middle name. I know some other things . . ." she smiled and shrugged. "He worries about silly things. Plus he'd never want to be embarrassed in front of you."

"I doubt you know anything more embarrassing than I already know . . ." Sherlock said, dangling the bait.

Harry grinned. "I'm not telling, Sherlock. You'll tell him the truth about me, and I don't need that trouble."

"Well, that's one way of looking at it," Sherlock said. "If I were interested in any of this, I'd remind you that I have information that I could share if I were disappointed about being misled." He looked over at her. "However, I am not that interested . . . as I said, I need to work."

"You can't bribe me. That's my brother," she said.

"Good to see some loyalty -- it's the most redeeming quality in siblings," Sherlock said. "Nonetheless -- not interested. If there's something John would like me to know, I'm sure he'll tell me."

"I'm sure he would."

Sherlock's phone vibrated, and he glanced down. 

"John will be back soon," he said. "I need to work. You need to stop talking to me. You can talk to John when he returns." 

Harry shook her head and sat opposite Sherlock at the desk. "No, I want to keep talking with you. I like you."

"I don't really like you," Sherlock said.

"That's rude. Why not?" she asked.

"Because you've disrupted my flat and now my work, that's why," Sherlock answered. "And you've upset John."

"What? He's not upset," she said.

"In the past," Sherlock said. "John might not hold grudges, but I do."

"You hardly know him. Not like I do. He might have been hurt before, but he's not now."

"Wrong," Sherlock said emphatically. "I know him. You've hurt him -- that's what you apologised for, right?"

"I apologised for dragging him into my mess -- I didn't actually do anything else to him."

"You let him down," Sherlock said. "When he needed help, you weren't there."

"What are you talking about?"

"When he came back from the war, he needed someone -- you're his sister, you should have been there for him," he said. "You're weren't. But I was."

"I tried to be there! He doesn't let anyone in. He didn't, anyway. Interesting that doesn't seem to apply to you . . ." She stared over at him. Then they both heard footsteps on the stairs.

John came through the door and looked over at them at the desk. "I was able to leave early. All good?"

"Of course. We're just getting to know each other," she smiled. 

"She's kept me from working," Sherlock said. "Do something about her."

"Oh please, we were only talking," she said. She stepped back and stretched. "I'm going to see Clara now. I'll leave you two alone." She moved closer to John. "You prefer him, yeah?"

"What do you mean?" John asked, looking between them.

Harry shook her head. "Nothing. I'll be back later." She grabbed her coat and left the flat. 

Once she was gone, John asked, "What was she talking about?" 

"No idea," Sherlock said. "She's been rabbiting on all afternoon." He got up to make John a cup of tea. "Work all right?"

"Busy, but the time passed quickly. Was it really awful?" He asked.

"Yes, it was," Sherlock said. "Which is why I've added it to the list of thing you owe me." He took a sip of tea. "I didn't get a single thing done."

"What were you talking about?" John asked.

Sherlock took another sip of tea. "I have no idea," he said. "Were you going to say something about the fact I've got nothing done?"

"Nope," he smiled. "I'll go upstairs and leave you to it." 

"Are you doing something with her then?"

"No, she's left. I was just going to get out of your hair so you can work."

"Where's she gone? Home?" Sherlock said. He was sure she was just here.

"Sherlock, she just said she was going to see Clara."

"Fine," Sherlock said sharply. "I wasn't listening to her -- I spent all afternoon trying to tune her out." He sat down on his chair. "Isn't Clara the ex?"

"Hey, if she annoyed you don't take it out on me," John snapped. "Yes, Clara's her ex wife."

"Do you think that's a good idea?" Sherlock asked.

John shrugged. "We talked about this at dinner last night, Sherlock. She wants to do it."

"Right," Sherlock mumbled.

"I'm going to let you work, okay?" 

"I don't want to now," Sherlock pouted.

"And what do you want to do, then?" Join asked.

"I don't know," Sherlock said, amping up the pout. "You made this mess -- you clean it up."

"I just came home. I haven't done anything."

"I meant the mess of my day," Sherlock said, getting up. "Forget it -- I'll figure out something to do."

"Are you going to leave too?" John asked.

Sherlock glanced over. "No," he said. "I'll stay here with you." His face softened a little as he sat back down. "Fine . . . now what?"

John looked around the flat. "Let's go out for a bit," he said. "I'm hungry."

"All right," Sherlock said and then thought for a minute. "Actually, let's order in instead. We should be here -- I mean, I'd rather stay in."

"Okay. You pick this time," John said.

"Chinese," Sherlock said. "Let's have one usual thing in this flat, please."

"Will you order it, please?" 

"Of course," Sherlock said. He got out his phone and dialed. "Should I order something for her?"

"No, I assume she'll be out for a while."

Sherlock ordered the food and came back into the sitting room. "Was work all right?" he asked.

John smiled. "She really threw you off, huh? You asked me that already. Tell me what you were trying to work on," he said.

Sherlock smiled. "If you insist," he said, sitting up. He started explaining what he'd been investigating. "If I can prove it, you can see how useful it'd be."

"I'm sorry she distracted you so much," John said.

"I am as well," Sherlock said. "Thanks for listening, though." He stood up to get his wallet. "I've got no notes -- do you have some?"

John nodded, standing to get his wallet out. "Here you go."

When the food arrived, Sherlock tipped the man and then brought the bag into the kitchen. He grabbed some silverware and carried it with the bag into the sitting room. "Less clean up," he said, handing John a container.

"Thanks." John dug in right away. "So really, what was she talking to you about all day?"

"Honestly I have no idea -- she was just asking questions, which was very annoying," Sherlock said. "Can you imagine how annoying it was being asked ridiculous questions at all day?"

"No idea," John smiled. "I thought you like answering questions."

"Not ones about myself, as evidenced by this very conversation," Sherlock said cheekily.

John flicked a piece of chicken at Sherlock and grinned. 

Sherlock smiled. "I like this better -- this is normal," he said. "Will you tell her to leave soon?"

John shook his head. "I won't kick her out. I'm sure she'll leave when she's finished doing what she needs to. I'm glad she finally in the programme and actually following it this time."

Sherlock glanced over. "I suppose you've put up with annoyances from my brother . . ." he said. "I hope it all works for her."

"Me too," John said. 

"Do you work tomorrow?" Sherlock asked.

"No, I'll be home. I'll take her out or something."

"Thank you," Sherlock said. "I hope it all works for her," he repeated unnecessarily.

John nodded, getting up to get water and put away his leftovers.

Sherlock took the rest of his into the kitchen as well. "I might try working after all," he said, realising his mood was much better.

"Okay. I forgot I can't go up, but I'll be quiet," he said.

"You don't have to be quiet -- you're not annoying," Sherlock said, settling in at his desk.

John laughed. "What a nice thing to say," he smiled.

"You seem surprised -- that's hurtful," Sherlock said, returning his smile.

John stuck his tongue out and went on his own computer.


	3. Harry's Return

Sherlock got to work -- it was so much easier when things were just normal in the flat. He occasionally glanced over at John, glad he was home. He made great progress in just a few hours.

John browsed on his computer while Sherlock worked at the desk. His mind wandered to Harry and what she was out doing. Hopefully it all went well and they didn't fight. Everything had been so messy before. He was worried, but was trying to be hopeful.

Sherlock kept his eye on the clock -- it seemed like she'd been gone a long time. Was that a good or a bad sign? Maybe she and Clara had reconciled and they'd start a new life together, and Harry would never come back to the flat. That seemed unlikely. He pushed back his chair and got up. "Tea?" he asked.

"Hmm? Yes please," John said, putting the computer on the coffee table to stretch. He had just leaned back when he heard pounding on the door downstairs. His stomach dropped and he rushed downstairs quickly, opening the door and watching Harry stomp past him.

"She didn't want to see me," Harry said to loudly as he quickly followed her upstairs.

"She didn't want to see me. Said she's 'done' - how can she say that? How can she just cut me totally off?"

Sherlock looked up. This was not good -- if she hadn't been talking to Clara, where had she been for the last few hours? He got out another mug to make a third cup of tea, mainly just to get out of the room.

"What happened?" John asked.

"I just told you! She. Didn't. Want. To. See. Me." 

John took a deep breath. "Okay, well, go lie down and --"

Harry laughed and shook her head. "I'm not going upstairs, John. What? You don't want your boyfriend to see me like this?" She tried to take the knife out of the mantle, but it was wedged too deep. "He's mean, you know. He was very mean to me before."

"You're drunk," Sherlock said, offering her a cup of tea.

Harry laughed again. "Spot on, detective!" She turned to John. "Hid yourself away when you came back, didn't you? Is that how you won him over then? Playing that no one would help you so he'd take you in?"

John flushed and shook his head. "Go upstairs. You need to sleep."

"He was looking out for you. 'Don't hurt John. Don't disappoint him.' Is that what you've been telling him? That I'm a loser?"

"I haven't told him anything about you. You're making a good show right now."

Harry laughed again. "Are you going to break up with John, Sherlock, now that you've met me?"

Sherlock set the mug on the table and sat down on his chair, taking a sip of his own. "It'd probably be best if you listen to John and go to bed," he said, trying to sound calm.

"No. I want to know the truth about what's going on here. I've read the stories, Sherlock -- you hate everyone. But not my John!" She turned to John. "And you! You have a whole blog dedicated to him and you want to tell me with a straight face you're not fucking."

"Enough! Go upstairs," John said angrily. He started to tug her along. "Where's your phone? Have you talked to your sponsor?"

Harry laughed again and looked at Sherlock. "Tell him." 

John looked between them. 

"He knew the whole time and he wasn't going to tell you," she said.

Sherlock exhaled and then stood up. "It's time for you to go upstairs," he said, moving toward them. "I think you've talked enough tonight. You need sleep."

"Tell him!" Harry said louder. "He figured it out with his little . . . trick or whatever."

Sherlock looked over at John. "Harry's not in a programme -- she was certain she could do it on her own." He glanced quickly at her before looking back at John. "Which has not happened obviously. She can tell you more about it in the morning." He turned his body now toward Harry. "Go to bed now," he said.

"Harry, just go up to bed," John said firmly. "I'll bring some water and medicine for the morning. We'll talk then."

Harry started up the stairs. "Whatever. You can just get back to your pretending . . ." 

John watched her disappear into his room. His breathing was shallow and fast. He didn't look at Sherlock as he went to the bathroom to find the medicine.

Sherlock stayed and watched the bedroom door for a few moments and then he followed John into the bathroom. "You all right?" he asked John.

John fumbled with the bottle and gave up trying to open it, taking the whole thing but not moving because he still didn't want to face Sherlock. "I'm sorry," he said. 

"You've got nothing to apologise for," Sherlock said. "But are you all right?"

John clenched his jaw and nodded. "I do have to apologise. I let her stay here, and she dragged you into her lies and the things she said . . ." He shook his head. He headed upstairs and found Harry half asleep. He put the bottle of medicine and the water on the bedside table, took off her shoes and covered her up.

"I'll go, John. For real . . . I'll leave you to your life . . . this is my mess."

John looked at her and almost replied, but she was just mumbling in her sleep. He closed his mouth and headed back down.

"Is she asleep?" Sherlock asked. 

John nodded. "Yeah."

"Are you all right?" Sherlock asked again.

John nodded again as he sat down in his chair with a heavy sigh. "You were right -- this was a bad idea."

"This is just what happens, John," Sherlock said. "Her getting clean is a good idea . . . she just didn't go about it the right way."

"But you knew, and I let her stay and disrupt your work and now . . . well, know you know what she's like . . ." He didn't look at Sherlock as he spoke.

"I already knew what addicts are like," Sherlock said. "But you know who Harry is, how she was before. It's logical that you want to help her."

John nodded. He didn't know what else to say about it. He was embarrassed by her behaviour, but more about the things she said. "All that stuff she said . . . I'm sorry."

"You don't have to apologise for drunken ranting," Sherlock said. "I'm sorry she hurt you."

John shook his head. "You think I'd be used to it."

"Just try not to focus on it -- whatever she said tonight, try to forget it," Sherlock said. "Look, why don't you sleep in my room tonight?"

"Why? No, it's okay. I'll be fine on the sofa," he said.

"Okay," Sherlock said. "Is there anything else you want to talk about?"

"Did you read anything else on her? I just want to know what's happening."

"She really did quit," Sherlock said. 

"So tonight was a relapse . . ." John sighed. "Maybe with proper help, she can do it for real."

"I hope so," Sherlock said. "For your sake."

"For her sake," John corrected. "Of course I can't have her doing something like this to me again."

"Is this the kind of thing she's done before?"

"She's never been a pleasant drunk," he said. "At least she didn't break anything."

"She looked all right -- I mean, she didn't look like she'd hurt herself," Sherlock said.

John nodded. "I know. But the way she lashes out…" John shrugged lightly. 

"Maybe I'm to blame for all that . . . "

"What? Why would you think that?"

"I annoyed her," Sherlock said. 

"How?"

"I told her I knew you well," Sherlock said. "That you trusted me . . . and I said you should've been able to trust her." He looked over. "I'm sorry…"

"I -" John started. He shook his head. "Nonetheless, whatever you said, it doesn't excuse the things she said."

Sherlock took a sip of tea. "Why do you think she said them?" he asked.

John shrugged. "Why does everyone else say things like that?" He focused on his tea as he asked.

"Why does it bother you so much?" Sherlock asked.

"It doesn't," John said quickly. "I was just saying."

"It does though," Sherlock said. "I've seen the way you react when other people say . . . things like that. And she knows you -- was trying to hurt you -- so it must bother you."

"It doesn't," John said again, his voice harder. "It's just . . . it's not true. If someone said untrue things about you wouldn't you correct them? If it was true, it wouldn't matter."

Sherlock sat back in his chair and thought for a moment. The room seemed incredibly silent for a moment. "Is it true?" he asked slowly.

John swirled his tea, watching it rise against the sides. "Is what true?" he asked stupidly.

"I know the fucking part isn't true," Sherlock said, wondering what was going on in John's head. "But the other . . . she said you preferred me, she asked me if I were going to break up with you . . . she's only been here two days and she's saying things . . . people who know us say those things . . . are they all right?"

"Of course not," John said. "We're friends . . . from the start, you said you were married to your work. You know what the truth is." 

"I didn't say we were married, John," Sherlock said. "I'm not sure it's what either of us thought or expected but . . . what if they're right?"

John lifted his gaze to Sherlock's. "What if they are?"

"We'll need to do something about that," Sherlock said.

"What would you suggest?" John asked. 

"I suppose we could spend more time together, maybe move in together and see how that goes," Sherlock suggested cheekily. "Maybe even if we worked together . . . maybe then we could see how we feel . . ."

John rolled his eyes and huffed a soft laugh, embarrassed he'd misinterpreted but relieved by the break in tension. "Sherlock . . . I thought you were being serious."

"I am," Sherlock said, leaning forward, his voice serious again. "We do all those things already, and I . . . like them."

"I like them too," John said. "Of course I do."

"So . . . it's true then," Sherlock stated.

There was too much going on in John's head to agree or disagree 

Sherlock could see that this was not the time to have this conversation. "Perhaps it's best to deal with your sister before we continue this conversation," Sherlock said.

John nodded. "I think that's a good idea," he said. 

Sherlock sat quietly for a moment. "Do you think you should check on her?" he asked.

John shook his head. "She'll sleep all night, it's fine. I think I'd like to lie down too."

"All right," Sherlock said, standing up. "I'll go to my room now, but if you need anything or if anything happens . . . come get me."

John nodded. "Thank you."

John lay down on the sofa and closed his eyes, his stomach turning in knots. Obviously, he'd had feelings for Sherlock, but those were passing thoughts he never thought he would get to entertain. Maybe it was the drama around Harry. Maybe when she left things would go back to normal. Did Sherlock really feel the same about him? He couldn't imagine it, as much as he wanted it. 

When Sherlock went into his room, he didn't get his computer or a book out. Instead, he lay down, turned off the lamp and thought for a while about their unfinished conversation. In truth, he had thought about his feelings for John before tonight, but obviously he'd never dreamed he'd be in a position to discuss them. It hadn't seemed like John was interested in those kinds of feelings from a man. Those feelings usually did complicate things so Sherlock had decided he'd just keep all that to himself. Even though it was clear he'd been failing to hide it -- he knew Mrs Hudson must know, and the jokes others made means they probably saw through him as well. He always let John dismiss it, though. It seemed easier that way.

But now it turns out, John might have been feeling it as well. He'd never confess it to anyone, but the thought of the possibility flickered warm in Sherlock's stomach. But not yet. First they had to deal with Harry. He hoped this wasn't all due to the unusual events of the evening -- he hoped things would become clearer once Harry was settled and gone.

Sherlock spent most of the night thinking and listening -- John was convinced Harry was done for the night, but Sherlock wasn't quite sure. However, the flat stayed mostly quiet.


	4. The Morning After

When John woke up Harry was sitting at the end of the sofa, eyes red and puffy as she looked down at her hands. 

"M'sorry," she mumbled. "I really was trying, I really was doing well . . ." 

"I know, Harry." John sat up and rubbed his face. "It's not easy to do it alone."

Harry nodded. "I'll go to rehab, a proper place, I'll try, I promise." 

John looked over at her. "You know I'll help you."

"Even after everything I said last night?"

John nodded. "You're my sister. Let me take a shower and we can go."

When Sherlock heard noises in the flat, he stayed still, trying to determine whether or not he should get involved. Eventually, he realised he needed the toilet, but he still wasn't sure about getting up. However, when he heard the shower, he thought it'd be safe. He nipped to the bathroom and then went out to get tea and make sure that John was okay. But it wasn't John he saw on the sofa. It was Harry. He turned quickly toward the kettle.

Harry saw Sherlock and leaned back against the sofa as if that would hide her from him.

Sherlock made his tea. He wasn't sure what to do -- could he just stand there frozen until John came out? He didn't turn around but did ask, "Want tea?"

Harry hesitated before quietly saying, "Okay."

Sherlock poured another cup and gave one to Harry. He sat down and took a small sip. "How are you feeling?" he asked softly, not really looking at her but into the space between them.

"Embarrassed," she said, taking a sip. "I'm sorry."

Sherlock's head nodded gently but he didn't say anything. He took another sip of tea. "What are your plans now?" he asked.

"Rehab. For real," she added. "John is going to help me find a place."

"Right," he said slowly. "Involving John is much better than going it on your own, but . . ." his voice trailed off.

"But what?"

"But involving him," Sherlock continued, "comes with consequences. He will follow through -- will you?"

Harry flushed but didn't say anything.

"Involving him also risks hurting him," he said. "I don't want him hurt."

"Yeah, so you've said," she said.

"I mean it," he said calmly. "Because I love him -- you were right."

Harry looked over at him properly. "You'd better not hurt him either," she said. 

John came in drying his hair with the towel and saw the two of them looking a bit awkward. "Everything okay?" he asked.

"Yes," Sherlock said quickly, standing up. "Harry was just telling me she's decided to go into rehab." 

"Yeah. I am going to ask some colleagues about some places they recommend."

"No need," Sherlock said. "I know a place."

John looked over at him. "From one of your irregulars?"

"My connections can be trusted," Sherlock said. "Let me make a phone call and get her in."

"Where is it? How do you know about it?" John asked. 

Sherlock glanced at Harry. "I can give you details later -- let me make the call, all right?" he said quietly. He disappeared into his room, shutting the door and then regretting having done so. He called his brother.

"I need a space in rehab," he said.

"Oh Sherlock," Mycroft sighed.

"For John's sister," Sherlock clarified. "It's urgent."

Mycroft grumbled, but he was not unaware of how important John Watson had become to his brother. And how John's presence had been good for Sherlock. Finally, he said, "I'll make some calls."

John sat beside Harry. 

"Where is he calling?"

John shrugged. "I can't ever figure him out until he's ready to reveal something. But I trust him so it's okay. It's going to be okay."

Harry nodded, thinking about what Sherlock said before. "He's helped you a lot, I think."

John nodded. "Yeah."

She opened her mouth but then changed her mind and sipped her tea instead.

Sherlock emerged from his room. "Give him a few minutes," he said. "He'll call back when she's got a place. I'm going to take a shower."

"Who are we waiting for?" Harry asked. 

"Mycroft," Sherlock said. "I'm going to take a shower."

"His brother," John explained to her, though he was still confused about what exactly Sherlock was doing.

Harry looked over at John. "Listen, that stuff I said last night--"

John shook his head. "We don't have to talk about it."

"We have to. You came back from the war so…broken. You were hurt and angry and…I don't know. You closed yourself off, and I was so messed up. But now you're…Sherlock did this?"

John shrugged. "I don't know. All I know is we started chasing a suspected murderer and the adrenaline -- I was running like I hadn't been able to in a long time. The cases gave me purpose again, something exciting like the surgeries used to."

"But it's him as well, isn't it?"

"It's --" John started, but didn't really know what else to say.

"Well, whatever is going on here, I'm glad," she said. "Someone in this family should finally be happy."

John smiled softly. "You'll be okay," he said. "You can do this - I know you can." He heard the door of the bathroom open, so he changed the subject. "Maybe you should get your stuff together."

"I'll go get ready," she said, getting up. She ruffled John's hair before going up to his room. 

Sherlock had slipped into his room after his shower to get dressed and saw his phone flashing. He came back out and said, "We've got a space. We should go soon."

John nodded. "She's just getting her things."

Sherlock looked over. "If she's willing, this place will help her," he said. "Do you think she'll stay?"

"I hope so," John said, standing up. "I appreciate your help."

"Of course," Sherlock said. "You sleep all right? How are you feeling?"

"I'm still tired," he admitted. "But I'm okay."

"Good," Sherlock said. "Should I come with you or do you want to take her on your own?"

"I think I should take her alone," he said. "That might be better."

Sherlock looked closely to read John's face. "All right," he said. "I'll be here." He glanced around. "I can tidy up a little so you can relax when you get back."

"Whatever you want," John said. "It's good, this place?"

"Yes, it's--" Sherlock started and then noticed Harry coming down so he stopped. He moved into the sitting room to speak to her. "Favours have been pulled, so I need to know that you are committed to this," he said.

Harry nodded. "I am, I promise." 

Sherlock glanced at John who was turned, washing up the dishes. He handed Harry his card. "You can call me," he said. "If you think you want to leave, call me first." He turned quickly and called to John, "I said I'd clean up while you were away."

"I know, it's a habit," John said. He grabbed his coat and looked at Harry. "Ready?"

She nodded. John took the address from Sherlock and they left together.

"It was interesting to meet you," Sherlock said to her. "Good luck."

Harry just lifted her hand in a wave as they left and went down the stairs. John let her into the taxi first before climbing in and giving the address. 

As the driver pulled away Harry faced John. "I turned your life upside down in just two days, but we've sorted me now. Kind of. Now we have to sort you."

"What's to sort?"

"John. You know you have feelings for that man. I know you do. You have to admit it. If I'm getting myself together, you should as well."

John didn't say anything at first. "Look," he finally said. "Some things were said last night, but it was after all the chaos so I don't even know if it's real."

"What do you mean?"

"It's easy to say things in the heat of the moment."

"Do you mean you said things or he did?" she asked, but she didn't let him answer. "He told me."

John looked over skeptically. "Told you what?"

"That he loves you. He said those words to me."

"Come off it," John said, looking away from her. 

Harry shrugged. "All I'm saying is you're the only one dragging your feet. Acceptance is the first step, after all."

John rolled his eyes at her and she punched his arm playfully. "I love you," she said. "He does, too."

When they arrived at the clinic, John couldn't help being impressed with the place. They walked in and gave Sherlock's last name. Things moved pretty quickly after that. Harry filled out paperwork while they explained some of their processes, therapy and class schedules, and rules for staying. Then they were taken to her room while being given a quick tour.

Sherlock knew they'd be gone for a few hours so although he had promised to tidy up, he first made himself another cup of tea and sat down on the sofa. It felt good for the flat to be so quiet. Harry's presence had not been good at all -- it had really thrown him off. At the moment, he just wanted to appreciate the silence and relief that now things would go back to normal.

He lazed around for a bit and then forced himself to start tidying. The flat wasn't even messy, but he felt he wanted to make an effort for John. He wanted to do something different because things were different, even now that it would just be the two of them alone. He stripped John's bed and replaced the sheets and then did the same to his own. He put away the clean dishes and a few of the small messes he'd made across the flat. Once he'd finished, he fancied a bath so took one and then took a cup of tea and a book to his room to wait for John's return.

Once Harry was settled they said their goodbyes. John assured her he'd visit and she promised to call. He left and got himself a cab, alone with just his thoughts now, racing about what would happen when he got back to the flat.


	5. John Returns

Sherlock fell asleep and when he opened his eyes, he panicked for a moment, feeling anxious that he was late, before he remembered he had nowhere to go. He was glad he woke up, though, because he felt sure John would be back soon.

Outside of the flat John hesitated, looking up at their window for several minutes before finally letting himself in and going up to their flat. He hung his coat and looked around, impressed with Sherlock for actually cleaning up.

Sherlock came over immediately. "Is she all right?" he asked.

John nodded. "The place was nice. She seemed to like it," he said.

"And are you all right?"

"I think so," John said.

Sherlock stepped closer in and then pulled John into a tight hug. Then he stepped back a little awkwardly. "I'm glad," he said. He took a step toward the kitchen. "Kettle's just gone -- I'll make it," he said. He returned with two mugs as John settled in on the sofa.

"Maybe we should finish our talk from last night?" John suggested.

"Okay," Sherlock said, sitting down next to him.

"I think I'd like you to start," John said.

Sherlock had spent part of his time along thinking about this and trying to memorise what he wanted to say. He took a deep breath and started. "Obviously I have feelings of love for you. I was not expecting to but it's happened. I know you are uncomfortable when people say things about us, so I understand if you'd like me to keep them to myself. Perhaps I should have said something sooner, but I suppose I hadn't put words to those feelings as you know feelings are complicated for me. However, now I have and . . . those are my feelings."

"I don't want you to keep them to yourself," John said. "My reactions when others said it . . . I don't know. I think it was a knee jerk reaction, a worry that they were right and I would be embarrassed because you didn't feel the same." He stopped to slow himself down. "I'm sorry -- I know that's a stupid reason, but I didn't know and I didn't want to get hurt."

They were quiet for a moment and then John said, "Harry said you loved me."

"And she was right," Sherlock said.

"I love you too."

Sherlock took a sip of tea, though he was already feeling quite warm inside. "That is good to know," he said. He sat back, a little more relaxed. That part of the talk had gone well. "Should we talk about the other thing?" he asked tentatively.

"Which other thing?" John asked.

"The . . . physical part. I mean, if that's the kind of love you're talking about," Sherlock said. "I have to admit, after thinking about, it is the kind I'm talking about it, but we don't have to do that if you're not interested -- it's not mandatory, for me, I mean."

"I'm not opposed to it," John said. "I mean, I've thought of it before, you know. A little."

Sherlock smiled a little. "Have you done anything like that . . . with a man, I mean?" he asked.

"Not with a man, no," John admitted.

"But you'd consider it with me?"

John nodded. "I've thought about it before," he repeated.

"Intriguing," Sherlock said with a sly grin. He took another sip of tea. "Maybe we could try…see what it's like. Do what we both want to do . . . don't do what we don't want to do. That is one way to find out if it's what we both actually want."

John licked his lips and nodded. "Okay." 

"All right, that's what we'll do then," Sherlock said. He was now sitting back comfortably on the sofa. He glanced at the clock. "Should we get you something to eat?" he asked.

"Uh, okay. Yeah. I could eat," John nodded. He didn't know what the plan was, but he was glad to be doing something normal -- easing into all of this. There'd been enough stress in this flat in the last twenty-four hours.

"Something here or go out?"

"Let's go out," John said.

Sherlock nodded and got up to get his shoes and coat. He felt strangely calm about what they'd talked about -- he wondered if he would stay that way. "Angelo's again?" he asked, moving to the door.

John nodded. "Yes, I think so."

They headed out and Sherlock got them a cab. They rode to the restaurant in silence. When they headed in, Sherlock sat at their regular table.

"Boys! Good to see you again!" Angelo said as he walked over. "Are you both well?"

"We are. I think we'll have our usual," Sherlock said as he glanced at John who nodded. "And can we get a candle for the table?" he added.

John flushed lightly but smiled softly and didn't argue it.

"Are you back to work tomorrow?" Sherlock asked, trying to have a conversation like they used to before they said they loved each other.

"Yeah," John nodded. "I'll be back tomorrow."

"You should get an early night tonight or maybe a nap," Sherlock said. "I mean, you've probably not slept very well on the sofa and all."

"It hasn't been terrible," he said. He almost admitted it was more his racing thoughts than the sofa itself that had troubled his sleep, but he stopped himself. "But it'll be nice to spread out on the bed again."

"It's a shame you have to work tomorrow . . . perhaps we could do something nice when you get home?" Sherlock said, a little awkwardly.

John smiled lightly and fiddled with the tablecloth. "We definitely can. I don't work too late."

"Good," Sherlock said. "I'll think of something."

"Yeah?" John smiled wider. "Okay. I'm looking forward to it."

Their food came as they talked. Sherlock began to realise that this was a meal like any other; that their talk really hadn't changed much at all. Whatever they felt for each other had clearly been there all along -- it'd just taken Harry's intervention to help them see it. When they left, he felt relaxed, getting them a taxi home and smiling softly out the window.

John tapped his fingers against his thigh as they made their way home. He didn't know what to expect. He was nervous for the first time in a long time, but in a good, excited way.

When Sherlock let them into the flat, he said, "If you want to have a nap, I've changed your sheets . . . I hope you don't mind I was in your room. I didn't do anything else."

"I don't mind. I appreciate it," John said. "But I'm not really that sleepy right now."

"All right," Sherlock said. "I think I'll work for a bit," he added.

"Oh, okay. Will the telly bother you?" 

"No," Sherlock said. He remembered how the television used to bother him when John first moved in, but it was good today -- just having John here instead of being all on his own or with Harry and her questions. He dug out his notes and began to work.

John put the news on low, settling into the sofa and glancing at Sherlock as he worked.

After a while, Sherlock stood up and stretched. He was smiling a bit smugly. 

John glanced over. "What are you so smug about?"

"My excellent work," Sherlock said. "Want me to show you?"

John stood up and nodded. "Yeah, sure." 

Sherlock was pleased with John's answer. He had him sit down and then he opened a file on his computer and showed him the notes he'd been taking, as he explained everything he'd been working on. He knew no one found this stuff very interesting -- including John probably -- but he really appreciated John's letting him explain it. "What do you think?" he asked.

"Impressive," he smiled. "Nothing new there."

Sherlock grinned. "Which means I was right," he said. He was enjoying the moment of triumph and of John's witnessing it. His body was close to John's, and he realised he was enjoying that too. He reached over and ran his hand slowly through John's hair.

John closed his eyes. Sherlock's hand . . . it felt very good in in hair. "You're always right," he murmured.

"You're just saying that," Sherlock said softly. His hand moved down to John's neck, rubbing it and then his shoulder. "To be nice . . . which you always are."

John's breathing hitched a bit but he didn't move, his eyes still closed. "It's true -- you're so clever."

Sherlock stopped rubbing and looked down at John. "Well, now you're just mocking me," he said with a little laugh. "Come on, get up -- if I'm so great, why haven't you made me a cup of tea?" He shifted a little awkwardly, but stayed smiling.

John whined when Sherlock stopped, his cheeks flushing at the sound. He stood up and moved quickly to the kitchen, hoping Sherlock didn't hear.

Sherlock sat back down to close everything up. He'd liked that touching, and John seemed okay with it. Hopefully this was a good sign. When he finished he got up to move over to the sofa.

John brought two mugs to the sitting room and sat beside Sherlock on the sofa, a little closer than he might have normally sat before.

"Have you been relaxing?" Sherlock asked. "I mean, do you feel relaxed or are you still wound up about Harry and everything?" 

"I'm still worried, I think it'll be a little while before I can relax about it." 

"She's in good hands there," Sherlock said. "She seems to mean it this time. I hope she does."

"I hope so too," he said. "Sherlock, how did you know about that place? I mean, enough to vouch for it?"

Sherlock took a long sip of tea. "I went there . . . a long time ago," he said quietly. "Mycroft found it."

"You . . . oh. You?" John asked, a bit surprised. He couldn't imagine it. He remembered Lestrade's drug bust, but had been utterly convinced it'd just been an excuse to pressure Sherlock into backing off the case.

"Yes, me," Sherlock said. Of course this was embarrassing, but John should know -- he probably should've known from the start, but he definitely needed to know now. "Quite some time ago, long before I met you. I made . . . poor decisions. I'm better now. Because of that place. If they could help me, they can help her," he added.

John blinked at him. He couldn't wrap his mind around it. Sherlock was so stimulated already, with cases and mysteries. "I never would have guessed. How -- I mean -- you've never done it since?" 

"No, not since I left rehab," Sherlock said. "And I'll also answer your unasked question -- yes, I have been tempted, but ultimately, the cases fulfill that need now." He found it hard to look at John, but he tried. "And I also know now it'd hurt you if I were to . . . make poor decisions again. I don't want to hurt you."

John held how gaze and nodded. "Well, I'm glad you're better. And I'm glad you offered it to Harry as well." He touched Sherlock's hand softly. "Thank you."

"You're welcome," Sherlock mumbled. He turned his body to face John's, reaching out to hold his hand properly. "Do you see what I'm trying to say . . . how you mean so much to me? How I care about your feelings? Those things are true, John, and they really never have been before. That's why . . . we're different. You've changed my life."

John held his hand and nodded. "You've changed mine, Sherlock. Even Harry said it. I know we're different."

Sherlock looked at him closely and then shifted slightly, moving his hand and taking a drink of tea. "I don't think you should stay up too late," he said. "What do you want to do?"

John pulled his hand away, slightly embarrassed by the change in subject. "I think I will go up to bed now." He got up and took his mug to the sink. He was having a hard time reading the situation. "Good night, Sherlock," he said from the stairs.

"Good night, John," Sherlock said. He stayed on the sofa for a while. listening to John climb the stairs. Then he got up and got ready for bed, going into his room and shutting the door. It seemed so quiet and empty. When he turned out the lamp, it seemed ever more so. He didn't like this one bit. He got back up and went to John's door, knocking softly.

John turned on his side and pushed himself up on his elbow. "Come in," he said.

Sherlock stepped into the room. "I thought maybe I could come in here to sleep," he said softly. "With you."

"Oh." John scooted over a bit and moved the covers. 

Sherlock climbed into the bed and lay awkwardly flat on his back. "Is this all right -- do you mind that I'm here?"

"No," John said. "I like it."

"And do you like this as well?" Sherlock asked, turning on his side and snuggling in against John's body.

John curled into the curve of Sherlock's body. "Yes," he said. "This is nice."

"It is," Sherlock said, sliding his arms around John's waist. "We could sleep like this each night. We don't have to, but we could."

John touched his hand and slowly laced their fingers. "We could."

Sherlock pressed a soft kiss onto the back of John's neck. "Good night, John," he said.

John squeezed Sherlock's hand lightly. "Good night, Sherlock."

Sherlock didn't fall asleep immediately, which was fine -- he quite liked listening to John's breathing, feeling his body inhale and exhale. But when John's alarm rang, Sherlock jolted open his eyes. He'd moved away from John slightly in the bed. He leaned over and squeezed John's arm. "John," he said. "It's time to get up."

John shifted and turned to face Sherlock. "I don't want to," he mumbled

"Don't be lazy," Sherlock said. "You need to get up and go to work so you can come back home for a nice evening. And also I need tea."

John yawned and stretched. "M'not making tea," he smiled. "I have to get ready."

"Fine," Sherlock said. "I'll make it." He got up. "It's chilly up here -- I need my dressing gown. Go get ready then."

John felt stupidly happy - his sleep was relaxing and Sherlock loved him. He got out of bed and took a quick shower before getting dressed and heading downstairs to make breakfast.

"Tea," Sherlock said, handing him a cup. "Don't get too accustomed to me serving you in the morning, by the way."

John sipped his tea and shrugged. "Too late," he smiled.

"Not everything's going to change, you know," Sherlock said with a little laugh. 

"Right, that's why I'm still teasing you," he smiled. He grabbed his toast and saluted Sherlock with it before leaving for work. "See you later."

"Text me when you're on your way," Sherlock called, hoping John heard him. He moved over to the window and watched John walk down the street. Then he turned around and looked at the flat. He had a lot to do, but first he wanted one more cup of tea.


	6. Something Nice When John Gets Home

John thought of Harry as he walked to work. He wasn't allowed to contact her for a while, and he hoped that she was taking advantage of the help they would offer her. It was hard to imagine her being better, but he hoped this would be the last time they had to worry about this. Then he let his mind wander to Sherlock and the night before -- he supposed he had Harry to thank for that as well, despite the disaster that brought it about. Would they have revealed these feelings without her? How long would it have taken for them to realise it? For them to make the move and admit it? And he still didn't know exactly what it was yet, but he was curious to find out. Curious and eager.

He saw patients with a good attitude, working quickly through the long lines and full waiting room. He wanted to finish and get home again, not because he was tired or annoyed but because he was happy and excited to see Sherlock again, to keep exploring this new relationship. 

Sherlock had finished his preparations an hour ago and was now regretting having been so efficient. The waiting was torture, and he'd already changed his mind about his plans four or five times. Perhaps he was being stupid -- he didn't know why he'd had any confidence earlier but he had and once he'd started, he had to finish. But now as he was looking around the flat, he wondered why he'd ever come up with this idea. Perhaps he should scrap it all. He picked up his phone.

_Home soon? SH_

_Soon, only a few people left. Should I pick up dinner? -JW_

Sherlock stared at the question for a few moments. He could say yes and then forget all about his stupid plans. But he didn't.

_We'll sort something here. SH_

_Okay.-JW_

John finished up his last few patients, heading out to hail a cab. He could do his paperwork the next time he came in. 

_I'm on my way. -JW_

Sherlock stood up and moved into the kitchen. After a few loud noises, one spill and multiple curses, he was ready. Or at least as ready as he was going to be. He moved over to his desk and opened his laptop, knowing he needed something to distract him for these last few minutes or his head would probably explode.

John paid the driver and let himself into the flat, climbing up the steps quickly. "Sherlock?" 

Sherlock got up and moved toward the door. "I'm glad you're back," he said. "We're doing something nice tonight, okay? Remember?"

"Oh, okay," John nodded. Sherlock was blocking his path a bit, but John just smiled up at him.

"I've tidied up and added . . . something special, I guess," Sherlock said, stepping back to reveal the flat. "Would you like tea or maybe a glass of wine?" he asked as he moved to the kitchen.

John walked into the flat and looked around. It was tidier than he'd even seen it actually. There were flowers all over, and he smelled food -- not take out but food actually cooking and filling the air. "Sherlock . . ."

Sherlock's face felt warm. He handed John a cup of tea. "We can have wine with dinner," he said. "Don't get your hopes up, though. I cooked it."

"You cooked?" John asked surprised. "You cooked for me?" He couldn't help smiling softly. 

"Actually I did," Sherlock said. "Let's focus on that part rather than how it actually tastes, all right?" He sat down on the sofa. "It should be ready in a half hour, which will give us plenty of time to order a proper meal in if it goes wrong." 

"Okay," John said. He sipped his tea and handed it back to Sherlock long enough to get his coat off. He took his mug back and moved to the sofa. "This is really nice."

Sherlock nodded. "How was work?" he asked.

"It was really busy, but I didn't mind," he said. "The day went by quickly."

"I wouldn't know -- I was actually working all day," Sherlock said with a smile. "Are you still feeling tired or do you feel back to normal?"

"No, I feel okay. Back to normal, I mean."

"But it's not normal, is it?" Sherlock asked. "I mean . . . it's different, right? You haven't changed your mind, have you?"

"I haven't, no. In fact I feel it even more, I think."

Sherlock smiled in relief. "How can that be? We were apart all day," he said.

"That's why," John said. "I missed you."

"I was thinking about you all day," Sherlock said. "Obviously, because I was trying to make everything nice for you. But I always think of you all day -- even with cases, because you're part of the cases. You're part of everything, really," he added as if this were the first time it all made such clear sense.

John felt his cheeks warm. He sipped his tea and looked over at Sherlock. "You're being quite sweet."

"I am," Sherlock said. "I wonder why -- perhaps I bumped my head earlier or something." He smiled stupidly over at John. "I'm glad you're home."

"Me too. I'm glad to be home, I mean. I didn't bump my head," John said.

"Good -- no head bumping tonight," Sherlock said. "Unless that's the kind of thing you're into," he added with a wink. He had no idea what that meant really, but it felt a bit like flirting and he liked it.

John smiled. "No. There's better things," he said.

Sherlock smiled. Yes, this was definitely flirting. "I hope the dinner doesn't put you off any of those things," he said.

"I doubt it," he said, smiling wider. "What are you making?"

"A casserole -- I found the recipe online and bought everything," he said. "And a salad, which hopefully I haven't screwed up." He looked over. "Does that sound all right? I should've asked, I suppose."

"That all sounds great," he smiled.

"I hope so," Sherlock said, turning to look toward the kitchen. "I should check on it."

John nodded, waving his hand a bit to let him go do what he needed to.

Sherlock got up and looked into the oven. The timer was nearly down to zero, so he looked in the oven and saw that the cheese was melted. "I think it's done early. Are you ready to eat?" he asked as he lifted the dish and set it on the table.

John stood and came into the kitchen. "I'm starved. It looks good," he smiled.

"I hope so," Sherlock said. "Here, pour this while I get the salad." He handed John the bottle and then brought the salad out. He sat down and then stood back up, lighting the candles. He passed John the salad bowl.

John poured the wine for both of them, smiling softly to himself as he got the table ready for their little date. "Do you want me to serve the casserole?"

"You can," Sherlock said. "Don't be formal -- or I'll never cook again," he added with a little smile.

John chuckled and grabbed the knife to cut out a piece. Something crunched and he paused. He pushed the meat and vegetables out of the way and saw the noodles -- they were raw. He bit his lip and started laughing quietly, then a bit louder as he cut into more of it.

"What's wrong?" Sherlock asked. "Did I do something wrong -- don't lie, how did I ruin it?"

John bit his lip and pointed. "The noodles aren't cooked. It needs to be boiled before you bake it."

"Why does everything have to be so stupidly complicated?" Sherlock sighed. "Getting the ingredients was pain enough and . . . no matter, noodles are not going to ruin our night. We can order in and eat the salad while we wait. Have you tried the salad? You don't have to boil parts of salad first, right?" He took a quick bite. "Yes, that's fine -- what should we order?"

John chuckled. "Something quick and easy," he suggested.

"Chinese?" Sherlock asked but he was already dialing the number. He ordered John's usual and then hung up. "Won't be long -- eat some salad at least, all right?" he said, tucking into his.

John served himself a plate and dug in. "This is great, Sherlock. Thank you."

"You're welcome, though what I think we've learned here is that cooking is not really my specialist skill," he said.

"That's okay," he smiled. "You have other skills."

"True," Sherlock said. "Though quite a few haven't been in practice for awhile . . . I hope I don't ruin things with those as well." He gave John a little wink.

John grinned. "You're a smart man, you'll figure it out."

"With your help," Sherlock said. He found this kind of flirting quite intriguing -- good, of course, but still so surprising.

"Just like everything else," John teased.

"True," Sherlock said. He took a sip of wine and then stood up, moving the dishes to the sink. "I suppose I should bin this?" he asked, lifting the casserole dish. 

John nodded as he heard the door. "I'll get the food," he said.

Sherlock dumped it, dish and all, into the bin. He put the rest of the dishes in the sink. "I'll do these tomorrow," he said. He grabbed two plates and forks into the sitting room. "Let's eat in here, okay, rather than in the scene of my crime."

"Crime? Shall I write it up on the blog?" John asked.

"No," Sherlock said. "I think we should keep this between us." He sat down next to John a little closer than he normally would.

"If you insist," John smiled.

Sherlock took a bit of John's order and scooped it onto his plate. "I'm not very hungry," he said. "All full up from the delicious salad."

John laughed softly. "I'll let it slide this time."

Sherlock did take a bite of food and washed it down with some wine. "I thought we could go on a walk or maybe watch a film after dinner -- whatever you'd like."

"A film would be nice. I'd like to . . . you know, cuddle."

Sherlock took another bite of food. He leaned back a little on the sofa as he chewed it. "Last night . . . you liked that?" he asked before quickly adding, "I did. Quite a bit."

John nodded. "I did like that. It was comfortable. Nice."

"You're quite comfortable and nice," Sherlock said.

John smiled. "So, can we sleep like that again tonight?"

"I'd hoped we would," Sherlock said. He moved just a fraction of an inch closer to John. "Food all right?" he asked. "I know I didn't make it, but I feel I should get credit for it."

"It's very good," he nodded. He looked over at Sherlock, scooting a bit closer as well.

"Good," Sherlock said. "I'm done with mine." He set his plate on the table. "I'll top up our wine while you finish." He went into the kitchen. He realised there was no space in the sink to leave the new plates, so he quickly did the washing up. Then he returned with the bottle.

John finished his meal and set the plate on the coffee table. "I'll do that one later."

"I'll take it in," Sherlock said grabbing it. "I'll make us some tea and I got something for dessert as well."

"Did you make something?"

"No, you're safe -- this one I bought," Sherlock called. The kettle had boiled by the time he had put the pastry on the plate. He made the tea and brought two mugs in, setting them down on the table. He nipped back to the kitchen and pulled a small package from a cupboard and then balanced the plate on top of it. "Here you go," he said. "I did make one other thing."

John took everything, looking at the box. "What's this?"

"Just a . . . gift, I guess," Sherlock said. "Open it."

John set aside the pastry and slowly opened the box. It was a scrapbook. Slightly confused, he started flipping through it slowly, looking at clippings from newspapers. Specifically cases they've worked together, pictures of them together. "Sherlock," He said softly.

"It's us, I mean, our story," Sherlock said, a bit awkwardly. "So you can remember, I guess."

John licked his lips. "This is . . . it's amazing, Sherlock." He kept flipping pages. "It really is."

"You are," Sherlock said quickly. He took a sip of tea. "I just . . . well, you are, John. You've really changed my life -- me. I am a better person with you. It sounds . . . I don't know what it sounds like, but it's true."

"I know what it sounds like because I feel the same about you."

"Good," Sherlock said. "Eat your pastry now," he added with a cheeky smile. 

John closed the book. He leaned over a pressed a quick kiss on his lips. "Thank you," he said, looking away quickly and focusing on his pastry.

Sherlock finished his tea, making small talk with John about nothing really. When John finished, he took the plate and their mugs into the kitchen. "Perhaps we could watch a film in my room," he offered when he returned with their refilled wine glasses. "Just a thought."

"Sure," he nodded. "That's fine with me."

"Why don't you go get comfortable?" Sherlock said and then laughed a bit at his language. "I just mean, I'm going to get ready for bed -- why don't you as well?"

John went up to his room and put on a pair of soft flannel pajama pants and un undershirt. He brushed his teeth and headed into Sherlock's room, smiling at the vase of flowers in there as well. Sherlock had really gone all out. John would never have expected this. 

Sherlock came into the bedroom, carrying the laptop. "I thought we could get into the bed, all right? To watch the film?" he said.

John nodded. "That's what I thought," he said. "Which side is your side?"

"I guess this one," Sherlock said, pointing. "I think I move when I sleep." He sat down on the bed. "Did you have a particular film in mind?"

John shook his head. "I'm not picky."

"Lie," Sherlock said. He looked over at John. "Do you want to get under the covers first or what?"

"I'm not lying! And yes," John said. Finally, he climbed up and into Sherlock's bed. 

Sherlock opened the laptop and queued up an old black and white mystery. He got up and pulled a chair around to the foot of the bed on John's side and set the laptop there. He got back and climbed into bed. He handed John the little remote. "Whenever you're ready," he said, lying back against the pillow.

John scooted down more comfortably and pressed play.

Sherlock turned a little to see the film, which also gave him an excuse to curl around John. He slid his hand over John's waist and held him. He looked over the film, which was one of his favourites. "Hope you like the film," he said.

John smiled and didn't reply as he watched the film, his body warm and comfortable. 

Sherlock closed his eyes and listened to the film's dialogue, but then he realised he was listening to John's heart beat. Did it seem irregular? No, that was stupid. He opened his eyes. "I'm a bit nervous," he said softly and then tried to focus again on the film.

John tilted his head a bit. "It's okay, I'm liking the film so far," he assured Sherlock.

"Right, good," Sherlock said. He shifted his body a little. It's not that he wasn't comfortable, it was that he was almost too comfortable. He tried to prop himself up a little more and ended up elbowing John's back. "Sorry," he mumbled and then let out a little sigh as he readjusted.

John paused the film and looked over at Sherlock. "Are you sure you're okay?" he asked. Maybe Sherlock was uncomfortable with John in his room. John had never spent much time in here before - maybe this was too much too soon?

"Yes, I'm okay," Sherlock said. He slid down again to go back to their original position. "Let's watch the film."

They lay quietly for a few minutes, and then Sherlock said, "It's just that I'm nervous. We said we'd be honest, so I am. But we should just watch the film."

John paused the film again. "What do you need to be honest about?" 

"About being nervous."

"What are you nervous about?" He asked again. 

"About having sex," Sherlock said. "Which is what I would like to do. Tonight, I mean. But I'm still nervous."


	7. Something They've Never Done Before

John licked his lips but didn't turn over to face him. "Why are you nervous?" he asked softly. 

"Because it's new . . . with you, I mean, it's something we've never done and there's been a lot of new just recently . . ." Sherlock said, grateful he was behind John. 

John nodded. "We don't have to rush into anything."

"That's not it, John," Sherlock said, putting some space between them again. In fact, he sat up properly and leaned against the headboard. "If I'm honest, I don't even want to wait until this stupid film ends. . . "

John's mouth snapped closed, fell open, and then he closed it again. "Oh." He shifted to sit up a bit. "Well, I like the film, don't get me wrong . . ." He paused it again. "But I wouldn't complain about an interruption."

"We can watch it," Sherlock said as he slipped his hand over to John's thigh and squeezed it. "If you prefer, I can just stay here, focusing on being anxious and put all other thoughts out of my mind." He moved his hand a few inches up John's thigh and squeezed again.

John shook his head. "I can't have you being anxious," he said, moving a bit closer.

Sherlock leaned closer and looked at John, meeting his eyes for a moment. "No matter what, John, I love you," he said and then kissed his mouth. The soft kiss quickly turned more urgent as he gripped John's shoulder to turn his body toward him.

John kissed back, unable to answer back, unwilling to stop the kiss long enough to answer back. He shifted towards Sherlock, moaning softly.

"Lie back," Sherlock mumbled in between kisses. He lifted his body over John's, straddling him. "I love looking at your face," he said, smiling, before leaning down to start kissing him again. He let his body move down the bed until he was lying on top of John.

John couldn't stop kissing him, arching his body to stay pressed to Sherlock's. His hands were tugging Sherlock's clothes. Sherlock pushed himself up and pulled his t-shirt over his head. Then he began tugging on John's, encouraging him to do the same.

Sherlock shuddering lightly, closing his eyes. "It's so much already, John . . ." he moaned softly. "It's like I've been waiting forever. . ."

John bucked up, his hardening cock pressing against Sherlock. "I know the feeling," he murmured, seeking his mouth again. He couldn't get enough.

Sherlock dropped against John. "I want it to last all night," he said as he melted into the kiss again.

John kissed him. "Me too . . . I want to enjoy everything . . ."

"Are you enjoying this?" Sherlock said. "Tell me. . ."

John nodded. "I like this very much, Sherlock. I like kissing you . . .tasting you and feeling your hands on me . . ."

A soft moan escaped from Sherlock's throat as he kissed John even more urgently. He dragged his mouth to John's ear, nipping and kissing, before moving it down to his neck. He sucked on the skin softly as he let his hand slid up and down the bare skin on the side of John's body. John moaned softly, tilting his head back. He hoped Sherlock left a mark. His own hands moved to touch as much as they could.

"I once had a dream about this," Sherlock said. "A long time ago . . . right after you moved in." He lifted his hand to grip the back of John's head, pulling lightly on his hair.

John breathed out hard, moaning his name softly. "I've thought about it before." 

Sherlock lifted his head. "Really?" he asked, pulling his hair a little harder. "Tell the truth."

John moaned softly. "I am. Just a couple times, I wondered . . ." 

Sherlock smiled and made a little growl as he licked up John's neck. "That's sexy . . . imagining you imagining it." He nipped at John's skin and then placed his hand on John's chest, pressing lightly before slowly reaching down to palm John's cock over his pajamas.

"That's . . . where I imagined touching you and . . . wondered how you might taste," John moaned softly.

Sherlock smiled and then began to drift down John's body -- licking from John's neck to collarbone before shifting to suck on one of his nipples. He pressed his hips into John's thigh.

John arched a bit. "Is this how you imagined it?"

"Yes," Sherlock said. "The first time." He was now covering John's abdomen with kisses. He tugged lightly on his pajamas. "Can I take these off?"

"Yes," John lifted his hips for Sherlock. "You've thought about it a lot? Tell me." 

"This is how it was in the very first dream I had about you," Sherlock said. "But when I woke up, I thought about it in other rooms and other places." He pushed himself up and pulled John's pajama bottoms down, exposing his hard cock. Sherlock leaned back down, holding it as he started to lick and suck.

John carded his fingers into Sherlock's curls, his own head falling back a bit. "Sherlock . . . fuck," he moaned.

Sherlock started a painfully slow rhythm, moving his mouth up and down John's cock. His hand explored between John's legs.

"God, your mouth is sinful," he moaned. 

Sherlock kept at work -- he wanted their first time to last as long as it could, but he couldn't deny he was already dying for release. Eventually he could feel his stomach tightening and he lifted his head, his hand immediately taking over from his mouth. "I liked that," he said, shifting his body beside John's.

John nodded, catching his breath a bit. "Now it's your turn," he said, moving to straddle Sherlock's thighs as he kissed him again.

Sherlock lay back against the mattress, incredibly eager but also a bit anxious that it was going to be too much for him to take. He kissed John back and then watched for his next move. John started moving lower, along his jaw and neck. He bit softly and licked and sucked Sherlock's skin. He couldn't get enough. 

John moved down lower, sucking one nipple and playing with the other. Sherlock's cock twitched which only made John's even harder. He pressed his hips to Sherlock's thigh so he would feel it.

"I'm going to explode, John," Sherlock moaned quietly.

"Not before I get you in my mouth," John said, making his way lower. He kissed his way down, enjoying Sherlock's body in a way he never thought he would. When he reached Sherlock's cock, he licked a long stripe along the shaft and took him into his mouth.

Sherlock called out John's name with pleasure. He reached down to squeeze John's shoulder. "Good," he mumbled, scarcely able to complete a word, let alone a full sentence.

John kept moving slowly, up and down along Sherlock's shaft, his hand between Sherlock's legs playing with his balls. Sherlock continued to writhe on the bed. Suddenly he realised he was getting too close. He didn't know what else John wanted to do, but whatever it was, Sherlock wanted to be able to do it. In fact, at that moment in time, Sherlock would bow to anything John requested. "Too close," he finally said. "I'm going to come if you keep going."

"Do you want to? Do you want to come in my mouth?" John asked, his voice a bit breathless.

"Don't say things like that," Sherlock said, pushing himself up on the bed. "I don't want it to end yet . . . but if you talk like that, I won't be able to make it. Come up here," he said, pulling on John's arm.

"Talk like what?" John asked, smiling as he crawled up Sherlock's body. He kissed Sherlock's mouth. "I could ride you . . . do you want to come inside me?" He liked what his talking was doing to Sherlock.

"It's too sexy," Sherlock said, pulling John's head towards his for another deep kiss. He nodded toward the drawer. "Can you reach in there?" he asked.

John leaned up and reached into the drawer, taking out the lube. He reached in again for the condoms. Sherlock grabbed the bottle and spilled some into his hand. He started stroked John. Then he slipped his hand between John's legs, slicking everywhere as he teased his tight hole with his fingertips.

John's breath shuddered a bit as he tried to compose himself -- feeling Sherlock's hand exploring his body like that was driving him crazy already. 

Sherlock pushed a finger slowly inside John, beginning with a light pulse. As John's body adjusted, he began to pump before sliding another finger in. As good as it all felt, Sherlock couldn't help but wonder if John had done this before. A part of him -- the jealous part -- did not even want to consider it. However, John was quite confident -maybe none of this was new. He decided to just trust John's reactions. 

"Feels good," John moaned, leaning down to kiss him again.

"Ready?" Sherlock asked into the kiss.

John nodded, taking the condom and rolling it on to Sherlock. "I can't wait to feel you."

Sherlock took a deep breath and held himself with one hand and rested the other on John's thigh as he lowered himself down onto him. The feeling was incredible. He looked up at John's face and said, "You okay?"

John nodded. He leaned down and kissed Sherlock, beginning to move his hips slowly. 

"It feels so good, John," Sherlock moaned into the kiss. "You . . . I love everything . . ."

John moved a bit faster as he was becoming used to being so full. "I love you," he said. 

Sherlock began to move a bit as well, tugging John down again. He held his head in his hands and said, "I love you, John," before he kissed him again. Then he moved one of his hands down to John's cock, stroking it in time with John's movements. He pressed his back against the mattress so he could more easily lift his hips. He closed his eyes for a moment, letting the pleasure fill his body. It'd been a long time since he'd given into any physical urge, but this wasn't like when he was using - this was better because it was a connection to the one person Sherlock truly loved.

John couldn't take his eyes off of Sherlock, he was gorgeous, lost in pleasure beneath him. "M'close . . . I'm going to come, Sherlock . . ." he huffed.

As soon as the words hit Sherlock's ears, he was coming. "Fuck," he called loudly, doing his best to maintain his hand's movement on John's cock.

John gasped as Sherlock pushed up deeper, stroking himself as he came over Sherlock's belly. 

"Oh God," Sherlock exhaled, opening his eyes and looking up at John. "You okay?" he asked.

John nodded, leaning down to peck kisses on his lips between catching his breath.

Sherlock shifted them and got rid of the condom. He snuggled against him, resting his hand on John's chest. "Was that good? Should that be part of who we are now?" he asked.

"It was amazing," John said. He shifted a bit, bringing his hand up to play with Sherlock's hair.

"Yes, it was pretty good," Sherlock said, his face breaking into a wide grin. "It's been a long time - I'm glad I remembered how to do it," he laughed.

John chuckled softly. "Not something you can really forget," he said.

"I suppose in the past I've tried," Sherlock said. He reached over and turned John's head toward him. "Don't forget this, all right?" he said. "Inevitably, I will annoy you - I know I have and I will again, I'm sure. When I do, though, remember this moment, all right?"

"I'm not going to forget this," John smiled. "Ever."

"Neither will I, John," Sherlock said. He curled close. "I'm sleepy - will you stay in here?"

"Of course I will," he said.

Sherlock pulled the blanket over them. "Maybe you could always sleep in here?" he asked tentatively. 

John nodded. "I'd like that a lot."

"Good," Sherlock said. They both felt tired and comfortable and safe as they drifted to sleep.

John fell asleep easier than the past few nights, wrapped up in Sherlock's arms. It was comfortable and warm.


	8. Six Months Later

They were eating lunch -- well, John was eating lunch while Sherlock was fiddling with his empty mug -- when John's phone vibrated. Sherlock saw John's face change the minute he read the text. "What's wrong?" he asked. "Is it a case?"

John shook his head. "It's . . . it's not a case. It's Harry," he said. 

"Is she all right?" Sherlock asked, reaching over to hold John's hand.

"She says she's out, she wants to come by tonight," he said. "She didn't mention that when I last visited."

Sherlock looked over at John and then stood up from the table and went around to his side. He kneeled down a little, pulling him into a hug. "It'll be all right," he said. "Whatever version of her comes through that door . . . we'll deal with it."

"She looked okay the last time I saw her," he said, leaning into Sherlock. "I just didn't know she was leaving -- have they let her out or is she giving up?"

"We'll find out when she arrives, I suppose," Sherlock said. "Unless you want me to call and see if Mycroft can get some information. . ."

John shook his head. "I know she won't know the difference, but I want to trust her. She's stuck with it and worked hard . . . let's just see and hope for the best. She won't be here for another couple hours."

"Okay," Sherlock said, standing up. "Long enough for you to do the laundry and for me to do the washing up--unless you'd like to also do the washing up as well?" he asked with a cheeky grin as he took John's plate to the sink.

"I ought to make you do both," John smiled. 

"That would be cruel," Sherlock said, putting away the bread, cheese and mayonnaise. He started washing the plate and cutting board. "You've not been cruel to me in the last few days . . . are you going to start now?"

"I would never start," he smiled. "Not to you."

"Right," Sherlock said. "I'll remind you of that the next time you're mean." He brought a cloth and wiped off the table. "Well, my chores are done, but you've not even started."

John stuck his tongue out and started the laundry.

Sherlock looked round the flat, trying to decide if John would want him to tidy anything before she arrived. He wasn't sure so he sat down in his chair. He wasn't sure Harry's visit was going to be a good one, and he worried that John was going to be hurt.

When John came back in, Sherlock said, "When the washer's done . . . maybe we should have a nap?" he said, reaching over and squeezing John's hand.

"I don't think I could sleep," he admitted. 

"I didn't mean sleep," Sherlock said. When he saw the expression on John's face, he said, "I didn't meant that either. I just meant we could rest, just rest without worrying."

"Okay, that could work."

"I'll check my email while we wait," Sherlock said, getting up to move to his desk. He answered a few queries, but nothing looked too promising. Eventually, he closed his computer and said, "Let's lie down.'

John nodded. "Okay. We've got about an hour."

"Come on then," Sherlock said, pulling on John's arm. When they got into the bedroom, he pushed John onto the bed and then slid next to him. "Just let me by you," he said snuggling up. 

John curled close to him and sighed softly. He was nervous about Harry being out, about her coming over. When he started visiting she seemed well, she seemed to like it there better than other places. Maybe that was a good sign and she was better now. But how many times had he said before and been wrong?

Sherlock lifted a hand and softly stroked John's hair and then trailed his finger down his forehead to his nose. "I hear your brain," he whispered. "Try to make it quiet - concentrate on my touch instead." He still felt a little silly sometimes, saying things like that. Mainly because what he wanted to be able to do was say reassuring things to John to calm him. Unfortunately, he'd yet to master that ability. So for now, this was the best he could do.

He drew his finger all around the perimeter of John's face, letting it drift to his neck, before lifting it up to John's mouth. He pressed against John's lips and then moved it to the corner, pulling up as if to force John into a half smile. Finally he moved it up to John's forehead again, drawing a small heart, and the wrapping his hand around John's body, squeezing himself closer.

"Thank you, Sherlock," John whispered.

Sherlock hoped that meant John heard what he was unable to say aloud. They closed their eyes and lay still together for a while. Sherlock was certain their hearts were beating in sync. Eventually, he put a kiss on the back of John's neck and said, "Maybe we should get up now."

John nodded. "Yes, let's get ready, I'm sure she'll be here soon."

Sherlock got up. "I'll make some tea," he said. "Do you think she'll want to eat food or something?"

"I don't know. We can figure that out when she gets here."

Sherlock moved into the kitchen and started the kettle. He hoped Harry would be all right. The facility was good - if he could survive it, surely she could. He hoped for John's sake she'd made it through.

John fixed up the bed and came out to find Sherlock just as the bell rang. He glanced at Sherlock and went down to answer the door. 

"John!" Harry walked in and hugged him tightly. 

"Harry, you look great! Come up, Sherlock is making tea."

Sherlock had poured three cups and brought two of them out into the sitting room. John's face looked relieved and Sherlock felt relieved.

"Everything looks just the same," Harry said as she set her bags down.

"You look different," Sherlock said as he returned with his own mug.

"You mean healthy," she said, taking the mug.

"Are you?" Sherlock asked, looking over at her.

"Don't do your weird deduction thing on me, Sherlock. I didn't run away. They discharged me. I'm better," she insisted.

He knew she wasn't lying. "Good," he said. He looked over at John and smiled.

"So, you feel good? I'm really glad," John said.

"Thank you. I want to thank you both, really."

Sherlock took a sip of tea. "What are your plans?" he asked her.

"I've got a job. It's up north--the owners work with several rehab facilities to help people and I can work part time there. It's near my sponsor, just in case."

Sherlock looked over at John who was smiling. He picked up his hand and squeezed.

"Oh my god," Harry said with a wide grin. "I told you, John!"

"Well, you did help us see things differently . . ."

"You mean I figured something out?" she said with a grin. "I found the solution before the great detective and his blogger did?"

"It appears you did," Sherlock said.

"Don't gloat," John teased. 

Harry said, "Look, I'm not staying here - I've got a room at a halfway house for the night since my train leaves early in the morning. But let me take you two out to dinner -- to thank you or celebrate or whatever. I want to, so let's . . . okay?"

Sherlock looked at John. "If you want to," he said, nodding slightly to let him know he meant it.

John nodded. "I think that would be great," he said. 

They went downstairs to get a taxi. "You can even have wine if you like," Harry said, as she climbed in. "I'll be fine."

"No wine," he whispered to John before they both got in and the car took off.

John nodded discreetly as he climbed in beside her. They didn't talk much on the drive, but she really opened up more at dinner. John felt relaxed and happy, and she looked good, healthier than she had in a long time. 

Sherlock stayed mostly quiet during dinner, though he was listening carefully. It's not that he was looking to catch Harry up, it's just that he knew addicts, he knew addiction, and he knew that John would be so crushed if Harry were to fall again. But he didn't hear anything that worried him - her descriptions were familiar and realistic. He watched the way John listened and reacted to her, remembering the time he'd said he would be friends with his sister if it weren't for her alcoholism. Sherlock could see that now. Which meant she was bound to be in Sherlock's life more as well, because John and Sherlock were intertwined forever. That thought made him smile so he reached over and held John's hand as they finished their coffee.

When they finished up at the restaurant they talked out on the sidewalk for a bit, both of them about to go separate ways. John wondered about Clara, but Harry didn't bring her up so John didn't either. They headed back to the flat and, after some hugs and goodbyes, true to her word, Harry grabbed her bags to head out to the halfway house.

Back at the flat, Sherlock made tea and brought it into the sitting room for John. "So, how do you feel?" he asked him.

"I feel . . . good. I feel like I can believe this time it's real."

"Good," Sherlock said. "She seemed well and happy," he added, nodding to him. It was true, and he felt good that John felt good.

John reached over and grabbed his hand. "And she thinks we look happy," he said.

Sherlock leaned in, gave him a quick kiss, and said, "That's because we are."


End file.
